


Along this Dark and (Not-So) Lonely Road

by kradam_12321 (kay_elizabeth_roxx)



Series: Along This Dark and (Not-So) Lonely Road [1]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_elizabeth_roxx/pseuds/kradam_12321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam Lambert, a young slave, has been juggled between masters for 18 long years. Defiant and ultimately alone, his only solace is in the company of his current master's son, Kris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Along this Dark and (Not-So) Lonely Road

Kris didn't hear the shouting this time, absorbed as he was in his school work, but he _did_ hear the door crack violently shut downstairs. It was a miracle that that block of wood even managed to stay on its hinges, abused as it was. He winced at the sound, shutting the book that had been laid out across his lap and dropping it onto the floor by the bed. His father had stormed out again, probably off to the nearest bar to procure himself a strong drink. His mom normally would have stopped him at the door, but she was out to lunch with her friends.

  
 

Neither he nor his mother had ever managed to anger his father into that kind of an outburst. There was only one person in the world that could—and often did—incense Neil Allen on a daily basis.

  
 

“Adam,” Kris sighed, jumping off the rumpled blue bedspread and hurrying out of the door. He had to hurry, simply because if he didn't, Adam would slip away to some secret niche to brood. He bit his lip as he went, hoping, as always, that it hadn't escalated this time.

  
 

Kris was just in time to see a tall, dark-haired figure rush into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. The click of the lock turning was unmistakeable, but Kris tried the knob anyway, hammering on the door when it failed.

  
 

“Adam, open the door,” he called through the thin wood, jiggling the doorknob futilely, frustrated at the lack of response. “Dammit, let me in already.”

  
 

“Then why not just order me to?” Adam asked, voice thick with something indiscernible and sharp, and Kristopher laid his head down against the door, sighing heavily.

  
 

“You know I wouldn't do that,” he replied, quietly, and all was silent for a moment before the lock audibly clicked open.

  
 

Kristopher let out a silent exhale of relief, pushing inside to find Adam half-turned away, arms crossed over his chest. A dark bruise was blooming around one eye, unsuccessfully hidden behind a silky sheet of dark hair.

  
 

“It's _fine,”_ Adam insisted, backing away when Kris moved closer. “He just threw a punch at me. It's nothing I'm not used to by now.”

  
 

Kris ignored his protests, grabbing hold of Adam's chin with one hand as the other brushed back the hair from his forehead, examining the rapidly swelling wound. He had to stretch up onto his toes to do it—Adam was an imposing 6'1”.

  
 

“What did you do this time?” Kris questioned, and Adam averted his angry eyes, jerking his chin out of Kris' grasp.

  
 

“I said something smart,” he bluntly responded, not a hint of an apology in his voice, and Kris groaned, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. He'd told him—he'd told him a million times.

  
 

“Do you have any sense of self-preservation at _all?”_ Kris asked, astounded and aggravated, standing back from the other man. “He hurts you like this when you're insolent—if you could learn to _hold your tongue,_  
maybe you wouldn't be beaten to a pulp every other day!”

  
 

“He treats me like I'm the dirt on his shoes,” Adam shot back, fists clenching. Kris noticed absently that his knuckles were unmarked—at least he'd been wise enough not to fight back. “Maybe he should jump off of his high horse for just a second and learn that I'm _not going to take that!_ And maybe _you_ should figure that out, too, Kris.”

  
 

Kris shook his head, knowing it was hopeless. He didn't want to fight—Adam initiated enough of that all by himself.

  
 

Kris was newly 23, enrolled in the most prestigious law school in the country, and, to be honest, Adam Lambert looked every bit his equal. But, in reality, Adam was barely a man at all, still hovering on the edge of his childhood. That he had had to live out his youth like this ate away at Kris' heart, and what was left of his respect for society.

  
 

Adam had spoken to him about it only once, in the middle of the night. His parents had been drug addicts, wasted souls that more than likely sold their toddler son off to get their next fix. He'd been raised as a piece of property in the slave market, and was sold out at 12 to an owner that was meant to 'train' him, of all the ineffectual and deceiving words to use.

  
 

Adam refused to be broken by that man, or any other man that followed. Most of the slaves Kris had seen in public let their heads droop as they trailed along behind their masters, their eyes listless and blank. Those were the broken, the ones whose hearts had finally shattered under the whip. It wasn't often that you saw one like Adam, a young man who defiantly met the eyes of every free man he encountered. It was them—the ones whose gazes said, _“You are no better than me”—_ that were usually dead before their 21st birthday.

  
 

Adam fought authority with all the ferocity of a wildcat. He had told Kris once, with a sick kind of smile on his face, that he'd bowed only once before a master of his—and that was to spat on his shoes. Kris had seen the scar that had resulted from that incident, and at the time it had nearly made him sick, even simply imagining the suffering that that imperfect flesh recorded like a faded memory. Adam was raw beauty, indefinable; the pride that every human should have was manifested in him like a great roaring beast.

  
 

And he was only 18.

  
 

“You might as well leave this be; there's nothing you can do,” Adam said, brushing around him, and Kris shook his head in irritation, laying a hand on Adam's back to guide him to the sink.

  
 

Adam gasped involuntarily at the contact of his hand, biting down brutally on his bottom lip. He tried to compose his face, but it was too late—Kris had already slowly withdrawn his hand. Kris grabbed him by the elbow, turning him around before he could protest. Maybe it was only a tender bruise he'd bumped—

  
 

The sight that greeted him was like a heavy blow to his stomach. His shirt was splotched with crimson, the blooming, obscene stain marring the simple white cotton of his t-shirt.

  
 

“Sit down,” Kris said, voice hollow, and Adam tried to turn, eyebrows drawing together as he opened his mouth to argue.

  
 

 _“Sit down,”_ Kris repeated himself, and Adam sighed deeply, pushing aside the brown-striped shower curtain to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Kris gingerly peeled the bloody shirt over his head once he had settled, lips thinning.

  
 

The pale skin of his back was marred by a haphazard pattern of shallow slashes, crisscrossing his flesh like a perverse maze. Some of the gashes were still bleeding, obscuring the old scars that laid below, some barely healed, some reduced to nearly unnoticeable white ridges. Even as he watched, a scarlet droplet slid from his body, spattering across the tan tiles below them.

  
 

These were the marks of a belt buckle sent snapping across delicate flesh. His body might as well have been the written record of every beating, each lash another moment of misery. Even now, Adam carried these scars with pride—not as a badge of self-pity, but as a sign of red-blooded defiance, as if to say: _Look. You think you can break me?_

  
 

Kris hid his face as he retrieved peroxide and large pads of gauze from the drawer under the sink—he could feel the pain etched across his face, tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

  
 

Kris' father's opinion on slavery wasn't uncommon—he believed that those sold into slavery were inferior. They had been unwanted, or illegitimate, or poor. Kris' father was good to both him and his mother—he had given them both a home and a reputation worth cherishing.

  
 

But, at times like this, Kris hated him. He hated him with everything he had.

  
 

Kris knew his father would be angry with him if he saw the bandages, obviously not applied by Adam himself. Kris had patched Adam's wounds since the first day he had arrived, but could only remember him being beaten this badly a handful of times. Kris could imagine him taking the brutal lashes silently, lips shut tight, denying Kris' father the pleasure of hearing a single cry of pain fall from his mouth.

  
 

Adam hissed as the peroxide met his damaged flesh, and Kris shushed him, throat contracting as he fought to steady his breathing. Adam didn't need to hear him upset like this.

  
 

Kris reached under the sink for a wash cloth, blotting gently at the cuts. The gauze pads were pressed firmly over the wounds and taped into place, then, blanketing his back in an odd, haphazard assortment of thick white bandaging.

  
 

“Thank you,” Adam murmured, standing and balling up his stained shirt. Kris silently nodded, but caught his arm as he went to leave, kissing him instead.

  
 

Adam's mouth moved against his, a little surprised, a little uncertain, as usual, and Kris wrapped a hand around his jaw, careful to avoid the blotchy-purple bruise rising around his eye.

  
 

He tasted sweetly of apples, and the muddled thought flashed through Kris' mind that that was oddly fitting—one would expect cinnamon, or something hotter, but _this_ was his true disposition, this taste.

  
 

Kris grasped at Adam's elbow, sliding a hand into his soft hair, lips hungrily clinging. Adam never took the initiative, not even when they were both desperate for it—they'd made love probably dozens of times now, tangled together in the lonely corners of the house, and Adam still believed it to be only his kindness. For a boy that fought so strongly for acceptance, once he found it, it was exhausting to impress upon him its sincerity.

  
 

Kris loved him, had told him as much, and Adam still wouldn't hold him unless Kris asked. It was as if he expected Kris to demand the same submission as his father did, when, in reality, all he really wanted to do was drown in him, in the scent of his flesh and the feel of him.

  
 

He was only a boy, but never a slave to Kris.Kris had fallen in love with him—maybe even the moment he'd been brought into the house, with those soft lips and burning eyes, forever denying any outside grip. It was some acute brand of torture, seeing his father try his damnedest to crush the spirit of the most vivid, _alive_ human being Kris had ever known.

  
 

“Your back.... It must be hurting,” Kris murmured, stopping for a moment to look up at him with wide brown eyes.

  
 

“It's fine,” Adam protested, flexing his shoulders as proof before bringing him close again. Kris couldn't tell if he was being sincere, and knew it didn't matter anyway--Adam wouldn't be swayed from his decision.

  
 

“Let's go to my bedroom, then,” Kristopher whispered against his lips, tired of waiting.

  
 

Kris took his hand and led him across the hall, closing and locking the door behind them. It wasn't often they were presented with the opportunity to use Kris' bed—usually they were confined to some obscure closet or anonymous section of floor, hidden from family and guests, those that would condemn them for their love.

  
 

Adam sat down in the middle of the rumpled bed, careful not to bump his back against anything, and Kris climbed up into his lap, arms wrapping gently about his neck. The cherry-paneled walls muted the light streaming in from the wide double window, throwing them into shadow.

  
 

That earlier thought was wrong, Kris dimly realized—Adam _had_ initiated it, once _._ The very first time, in fact. Kris had been in the cellar, on some forgotten errand, and Adam backed him against the wall, kissing him solidly on the mouth. He'd stepped back then, daring him to strike out, but Kris had only looked at him for a long moment before drawing him close a second time, returning the favor with raw, tangled emotion. Adam had gasped, pulling him in tighter against his body...and so it went.

  
 

Adam tossed away his bloody shirt, before slipping his hands under Kris', fingers ghosting along the unmarked flesh. Kris knew Adam had never, and would never, envy him, but at times like this, he could almost taste the longing. This was their comfort, when everything else was poisoned.

  
 

Kris tugged his shirt over his head, sparing Adam the discomfort of stretching the bandages to do it himself. Arms wrapped about his back as they nibbled at each other's lips, Kris' hands pressed against the muscular expanse of Adam's chest. He knew that Adam was five years his junior, but, at times like this, he felt very much older.

  
 

Kris felt seeking fingers slip inside the loosened waistband of his jeans, sliding them down his hips in tandem with his boxers. Their lovemaking had always been delicate thing, constantly on the brink of being shattered by a nearby footstep, or the hum of a car pulling into the driveway. They clung to the moments even as they slipped away, and Adam twisted around, wincing a little before coming away with the lube.

  
 

Kris worked Adam's pants down as far as he could in the meantime, releasing his flushed erection. This was one part of Adam that had never been violated as the rest of his body had, and for that Kris was grateful—Adam had nearly killed the one man that had tried to take his virginity by force.

  
 

Patience was far from Adam's best quality, and he pushed two slick fingers deep inside Kris without preamble, sinking them into the soft heat of him. Kris thrust his hips against him in response, a moan bubbling up from between his lips as he gripped at his shoulders. Normally, they would pause, terrified that someone had heard them, but today they had no reason to worry. They were alone.

  
 

Adam latched onto his mouth as he stretched him, the other hand kneading at his thighs, the supple slope of his ass. Adam knew just where to rub inside of him to make him tremble, to make him clench down around the thin digits. His cock was dripping and heavy, but Adam never touched him there—not until the end.

  
 

Adam loved to finger him, would take all night doing it if given the chance, but it only made Kris ache for him, for all of him. The sooner he was ready, the sooner they could be together, as far he was concerned.

  
 

Kris soon lifted off of those stroking fingers, feeling Adam's hands settle onto his hips, smears of lubricant glistening against his skin.

  
 

Kris dripped a little of the slick liquid onto Adam's cock, before spreading his thighs further around his hips and grabbing his length, positioning the thick head against his quivering entrance. This moment always made Kris' stomach clench in anticipation and pleasure, that one endless moment before the sweet stretch.

  
 

Kris guided Adam's cock inside of him, lips parting in a long exhale as he sank down onto his lap. They had done this many times; the pain had long since ceased. And now Kris even looked forward to that throbbing, aching first press inside. The pain was good; the pain kept him grounded.

  
 

Adam moaned and buried his face into Kris' shoulder, embracing him tightly. Adam liked to keep him like this for a minute: settled in his lap, cock buried deep inside of him. And Kris liked it too, liked the way Adam lips rested against his neck. This way, he could feel Adam's heartbeat pulsing inside of him.

  
 

Eventually, Adam's hands clenched around his hips, and Kris lifted himself in response, biting his lip as Adam slid tortuously slowly out of his body. Kris' hand accidentally bumped against the gauze blanketing his back as he fought for stability, and Adam spasmed, both of them crying out as Kris dropped back down onto him in surprise.

 

“I'm sorry,” Kris breathlessly murmured against his mouth, and Adam only moaned, tongue tracing the contours of his lips.

  
 

Kris took a deep breath and rocked a little in his lap, Adam's cock shifting maddeningly inside of him. Even the slightest motions ignited spasms in his belly, the thick head of Adam's dick nudging his sweet spot. Adam played idly with Kris' nipples as he allowed him to adjust, moaning in frustration at the slow undulations of his hips.

  
 

Kris quieted him with a deep, thorough kiss, before curling his hands against his chest and beginning to move on him in earnest, clenching rhythmically around his hardness.

  
 

The tight, velvet pressure drew a moan from deep in Adam's throat; a thick crescendo that echoed heavily off the walls. Adam buried his face into Kris' neck, nipping at his collarbone as Kris writhed on top of him, and Kris did the same, laying his forehead down against his shoulder. Silence had no hold over them as the heady scent of sex surrounded them; they were free to moan their pleasure into each other's flesh.

  
 

Adam always seemed to be in tune with the quick contractions of Kris' body, and what they signaled, because, just when Kris was ready to beg for it, Adam took his throbbing erection in hand, squeezing him slow and firm. The slow pressure was in stark contrast with the cramping thrust of Adam's hardness inside of him, and suddenly there was no hope of drawing this out into a slow affair. Kris was already tottering on the edge, body pulsing around his lover, barely able to keep his eyes open as they sloppily mouthed at each other.

  
 

Those sensual lips captured Kris' in a kiss just as his orgasm crested, and he arched against Adam's body, thick ropes of come striping his stomach. Strong arms flexed around his back, holding him tight, and Kris moaned louder as Adam spurted his seed deep inside of him, the flood of warmth filling him up and intensifying his climax all the more.

  
 

Adam shuddered beneath him, his cock twitching one last time inside his slick passage, and Kris' thighs gave out with a shiver, a last, nearly-painful wave of pleasure wracking his small frame.

 

They sat still for a moment, as all do after lovemaking, their chests heaving as they remembered the brief moments of complete fulfillment that had come before. Adam was still sheathed deep inside of him, and Kris shifted, feeling slickness trail down his inner thigh. He wanted to keep him there forever, but his wobbling thighs eventually forced him to move, Adam's cock slipping out of his abused hole.

  
 

He settled down into Adam's lap, sighing as long arms wrapped around him, embracing him tenderly. Adam had built up a wall against the outside world; he had hardened himself inside and out. No one observing him from down the street would ever think him capable of this type of intimacy with another human being. His 18 years on earth, spent as they were, should have scarred him beyond love...but here he was now, embracing another as a lover.

  
 

Kris touched his face, kissing his cheek and meeting his eyes. He tipped his face up and met his lips next, softly clinging, eyelashes resting against his cheeks.

  
 

“Adam,” Kris murmured, just resting his lips against his lover's. “I love you.”

  
 

“You don't have to say that,” Adam replied, after a long pause, averting his eyes. “You already do enough.”

  
 

That barrier that was so thoroughly broken down during their lovemaking was already being built up against him, brick by brick, and Kris gripped at Adam's shoulders, making him pay attention, making him meet the earnest brown orbs of his eyes.

  
 

“ _Listen_ to me, you idiot,” Kris ordered, smiling a little sadly at Adam's look of surprise. “I know your instinct is to fight me tooth and nail over everything, but listen to me for just a minute. I wouldn't be here if I didn't mean it.... I'm not _that_ nice of a person.”

  
 

Adam laughed a little, wiping at his tired eyes. “I know. You wouldn't humor me if you didn't like me.”

  
 

Kris huffed in frustration, trapping Adam's hands against his chest.

  
 

“I do like you, Adam. I like you a lot. But I'm not _humoring_ you when I do this,” he said, ghosting gentle fingertips over the bandages on his back, “or this,” he continued, gesturing to their bare forms. “Put down that force field for just a _second_ and feel what I'm saying.”

  
 

Adam dropped his eyes, before raising them uncertainly again, biting his lip. His nod came after a long moment, and Kris smiled, feeling that barrier topple down yet again. It would almost certainly be resurrected again, but he had to believe that, every time it was rebuilt, it would be weaker than before.

  
 

“I don't know what love feels like,” Adam murmured, his voice barely a whisper, holding Kris' wrist against his lips as he spoke. “But, if it means anything.... You're the only one I ever want to be with like this.”

  
 

Kris smiled again, nuzzling his face into Adam's shoulder. That was all he needed; hearing that meant more than he could express.

  
 

“And one day it will all change,” Kris murmured, voicing a future he yearned for with all of his soul, one he needed to hold on to. “One day this will all be my inheritance, and you....”

  
 

“You know it's not that simple,” Adam whispered, eyes closing as he rested their foreheads together. His next thought remained unspoken, but the words still hung clearly in the air—he could easily be sold by then...or worse.

 

“Don't say it,” Kris replied, clinging to the quiet peacefulness for just one more moment. He wanted to push away that unforgiving outside world, the world that was the enemy to the man in his arms. “Just.... Not right now. Let it be.”

  
 

Adam nodded against his temple and hugged him, staying that way until a car door slammed heavily outside of the house. Adam gently moved Kris off his lap, then, before pulling on his pants and retrieving his shirt, encrusted with dried blood. He grabbed Kris' robe off the back of the door as well, settling it about his shoulders before leaning down and pressing a single kiss to his temple.

  
 

Footsteps were already moving up the stairs, and Adam met Kris' eyes one last time before slipping silently out into the hallway. Kris clutched his robe about his shoulders, suddenly cold—their time together as lovers had ended once again, passed away in the space between one breath and the next.


End file.
